O Mercury, for by thee, apt pupil, taught
Amphion could by singing move the stones,
O shell, whose craft from seven strings has wrought
Melodious tones,

Not vocal erst nor wont to please, held dear
At rich men's banquets now and rites divine,
Prompt strains that Lyde will her obdurate ear
To list incline,

Who like a three year filly out at field,
Too shy to handle, plays and frisks her fill,
Unwedded, and as yet unripe to yield
A husband's will.

Thou canst lead tigers; woods move at thy call
To follow thee; swift rivers cease to run.
Thy wiles the porter of the grisly hall,
E'en Cerberus, won;

Though Fury-like a hundred snakes about
His head he wears, and from his bosom draws
Foul breath, while noisome slaver drips from out
His triple jaws.

Ixion, Tityos too were forced to smile,
Though with wry face: the pitcher—not for long—
Stood dry, while thou the Danaids didst beguile
With soothing song.

Those maidens' crime and noted punishment
Let Lyde hear; the leaky tank relate,
Whence water through the bottom aye finds vent,
The tardy fate,

Yet sure, for guilt in Orcus' depths below.
They to their husbands with hard tempered steel
Dared, wicked ones, (could daring further go?)
The death blow deal.

One out of many, of the bridal flame
Worthy, her perjured parent's will withstood,
And by a lie sublime to immortal fame
Her right made good.

‘Rise’, whispered she to her young bridegroom, ‘Rise,
Lest upon you a hand you dread not lay
Long sleep. My sire's and evil sisters' eyes
'Scape while you may.

‘Like lionesses they that calves have ta'en
Rend each alas! her own. I, softer far
Of heart, will neither strike you nor restrain
With bolt or bar.

‘Me let my father with harsh fetters load,
Or banish to Numidians' distant shore,
For that I mercy to my husband showed
In peril sore.

‘Go, where to speed you feet and winds avail,
While Venus aids, and night with friendly gloom,
Go with fair omen, and my piteous tale
Grave on my tomb.’